Umbra - Special Tasks Officer in the Imperial Legion of Skyrim
by WritingWhale
Summary: Lex Umbra Inductor is a famous imperial officer in Skyrim, feared by all Stormcloaks. The story follows his journey in the pursuit to quell the rebellion and reunite all of Skyrim again. However, both his questionable methods and gruesome past could be his undoing, not to mention an unexpected rival with very dark ambitions.
1. Chapter 1 - Lex Umbra Inductor

"Do you know why they call this blade the _Empire's Wrath?"_

He held the sword up against the Stormcloak's throat. Its shining blade lit up the otherwise pitch-black cave. In the darkness hid dozens of dead Stormcloaks, whose blood had completely covered his sword just moments ago.

"No, no I can't say I know. But something tells me you do."

The Stormcloak met his eyes, respectful in a way. But the suppressed anger could've not been missed.

"Indeed, I do. It's called the _Empire's Wrath _because this weapon is especially made for killing lowlifes like you – enemies of the empire."

Now the suppressed anger boiled up and showed itself.

"**Lowlifes!?** Why, because we want to free our homeland? Because we want to live according to our own customs? **Because we want a home for the true sons and daughters of Skyrim!?"**

"Because you're idiots, that's why. A Skyrim under Ulfric Stormcloak is a weak and broken Skyrim. Going to war against the elves now would be pure suicide, leading to nothing but more dead Nords. Unless Ulfric doesn't manage to kill them all himself."

That was the last straw for the rebel.

"**Ulfric is a true Nord! Death to the Empire!"**

In a blind fit of rage, the Stormcloak drew a hidden dagger and charged at him. A second later, Stormcloak blood was pouring all over the cave walls. The headless body gushed like a fountain, painting the cave in a deep shade of red. It was something he could never get used to – decapitation was the quickest way to deal with threats, but the aftermath was always obscene in an unreal way. He stood and stared at the dead body for a while before he sighed deeply and wiped the blood off the blade on the corpse. Serves him right, he thought.

The landscape looked exactly the same as it did when he entered the cave. The bleak skies and snow-covered grass, the small creaks and tall pine-trees. He smiled.

Ancient, beloved Skyrim. How can you still be so beautiful when the rest of the world is burning? He thought.

Eternal beauty and sainted solitude, that's what he used to think when thinking of Skyrim. But things have changed. War, fear and paranoia now ruled Skyrim, and his childhood-home was no longer the gracious land of heroes it used to be. Now it was infested with vandals, bandits, Stormcloak vermin and worst of all – dragons. Dragons, the very thought of it! It was almost comical in a way.

He looked up to the sky and gave out another deep sigh. His mission was complete; it was time to make his way to Dragonsreach to inform the Jarl. After walking a distance, his eyes caught an all too familiar sight.

Bandits, holding a Khajiit caravan. His mind went dark. Bandits - filthy, loathsome bandits! He stared at their dirty, scarred faces as he walked towards them. The terrified Khajiits held hostage saw him coming, and a look of slight relief striked their faces. They knew who he was, they had heard the stories. The bandits saw him as well, but didn't let themselves be scared. There were nine of them, armed to the teeth, but wearing simple hide armor, not much to stop a blade. He would take no joy in this; it wouldn't be fun or honorable. One of them, quite obviously the leader, walked towards him and drew an old, rusty iron sword. This wouldn't even be a fair fight.

"Looks like it's our lucky day. First we get ourselves a fancy cat-caravan, and now an Imperial officer walks by. The gods favor me today!"

The bandit pointed the rusty sword at him. What gods? He thought. Who does this vermin worship, daedra? Surely none of the Nine Divines would favor such filth. Eight, he corrected himself, Eight Divines. It was only temporary.

"All right, now hand over your coin!"

He looked at the bandit a long time before speaking. The criminal's arrogance was intriguing, Windhelm-born perhaps?

"Do you know who I am?"

"**Does it look like I care? Just hand over your coin, or I'll decorate the path with your insides!"**

The scum was clearly from Windhelm. He calmly ignored the threat and continued.

"Well then, allow me to introduce myself. I am General Lux Umbra Inductor, Special Tasks Officer of the Imperial Legion in Skyrim. I specialize in killing anyone foolish enough to deny Imperial justice. People like you."

The bandit leader looked dazzled at first. Or perhaps even scared. But he then pointed the sword closer, touching the plate of the torso. He threatened Umbra once more.

"I'm going to give you one last chance. Give me your coin, or I'll kill you, and then the caravan. And then I'll use your own blade to stack your head on it! **Understand!?**

"Fool."

Umbra advanced on the bandit and grabbed his arm, as the sound of bones snapping was heard before being drowned in echoing screams of pain. Needlessly, the bandit dropped his sword and swore loudly to himself. Umbra had crushed his fighting-arm.

He didn't get to say much more, as Umbra grabbed his throat and calmly lifted him above ground with just one hand. His right hand holding him started to glow red. Umbra looked at the filth with a mixture of casualty and disgust as he delivered his infamous catchphrase.

"Imperial justice cannot be denied."

And in a split second, the glowing hand poured out a wave of intense fire, burning every inch of the victim's body to a crisp. Then just as quickly as it had appeared, the fire vanished, leaving the arrogant bandit leader into a burned corpse. Umbra dropped the body, and stared hatefully at the remaining crew, frozen in place.

"Leave."

That's all he has to say. The bandits' spell broke, and they ran in all directions, terrified for their lives. The Khajiit merchants sighed in relief, and one of them, an elder, rushed to him.

"It seems that the stories are more than true. Mister Umbra, you have me and my children's most humble thanks. We shall not forget your kindness."

"Where are you headed, Khajiit?"

"To Whiterun, mister Umbra. And – the name is Kah'Shat, mister Umbra. "

"Well then Kah'Shat, I think you could repay me by give a lift on your wagon, since we're going to the same destination. "

"A lift? Umm…yes, yes of course! That…that would be my pleasure!"

"My thanks."

Umbra climbed up on the wagon, sharing space with two Khajiit merchants, a man and a woman, Kah'Shat's children. They introduced themselves – their names were Rhamin and Tha'Sha, and thanked him once more. Kah'Shat said something in Khajiit-tongue and the horses went off.

The rest of the journey was calm and silent. Much too silent. The two Khajiits kept looking nervously around them, but not for bandits, he could tell. Umbra noticed one of them flashing his eyes repeatedly on a basket covered with a green cloth. Umbra understood their nervousness. Skooma. No wonder they hesitated when he asked for a ride.

It was always the cursed skooma. Just once would he like to meet a Khajiit merchant with no skooma, just once. His eyes swept through the two nervous felines with a penetrating gaze.

"I will not imprison you. But I will confiscate the skooma when we arrive to the city. Is that understood?"

A look of shock striked the caravan. The cats simply stared at him, shameful and possibly scared. There was silence a long time until Kah'Shat spoke.

"We're not proud of it, but here in Skyrim, skooma is our biggest investment. As ashamed as I am of selling this abomination together with my own children, it's how we survive. Nords prefer not to trade with Khajiit, unless they want…**rare** items."

"I understand your situation, but it's a crime anyhow. Normally I would send you all to Dragonreach prison. I am making a significant exception by not turning you in. Do you understand?"

"Yes…"

Shortly after, the wagon arrived at the Whiterun gates. Umbra stood up, grabbed the basket and thanked the family for the ride. The caravan nodded in silence. When out of the caravan's sight, Umbra destroyed the flasks, a dozen in total, and gave the basket to a shopkeeper as a gift. He always did what he could to maintain a good relationship with the citizens, especially the merchants. Business and politics always went hand in hand – it was an ugly truth he had learned during his time in Solitude, but a truth never the less. Umbra liked to tell himself that that was the difference between the imperials and the Stormcloaks – the imperials actually understood how the world worked, while the Stormcloaks fought for some imaginary ideal they didn't fully understand themselves. Business was part of the reality. Legends were not.

As he headed to the Cloud district, Whiterun's finer parts, he couldn't help but notice that the Gray-Manes and Battleborn were at it again, fighting over their political beliefs like screaming hagravens. Normally, he would have broken up the fight, but now was not the time. Now he would have an audience with Jarl Balgruuf, one of the few men of power with a straight head.


	2. Chapter 2 - Iksar the Undead

The cave was dark, cold and haunting, with little to no light seeping in. It was the sort of place you'd expect to find draugrs walking the halls, or necromancers trying to achieve just that. There were many caves like this in Skyrim, dark and brooding, but none screamed "death" as much as this one. It was fitting of course, given who had searched refuge in here – Iksar the Undead. Iksar sat just inside the entrance, where he could get the little light that was, and tended to his wounds. The pain was coming back again, this time it made his whole arm shiver in excruciating pain. Now and then, the wound would start to burn, causing this pain he could just barely handle. Iksar had seen nearly every sort of enchantment there is, but the blade that gave him this cut was something else. What magic was this? He had tried every spell he knew in the restoration school, but the solutions were only temporary. That blade…that man.

Iksar hissed out a mocking laughter, not sure who he was mocking. Probably himself for allowing this to happen. He had made a mistake, the first one in years. It would've been so easy to dodge, if only he hadn't underestimated his foe that much. He had reasons to of course, no one had ever given him a proper fight; he was undefeatable. Or at least so he had thought.

He fled, as if defeated. Did he…surrender? No, a tactical retreat, no cowardice in that. However, it didn't change the fact that he had lost a fight, a fight against a common legion officer! …Common? No, that he certainly wasn't. A common man could never triumph over Iksar the Undead, the man that even daedra feared! This man was in his league. What was it the he had said before the fight? _Imperial justice cannot be denied. _What a smug bastard. But no worries, Iksar would have his revenge. As soon as he had healed his wounds, permanently. He couldn't help but be equally intrigued of the wounds as he was aggravated by them. He **had **to know which enchantment he had been victim to. It was fascinating, something he as a wizard saw as his duty to learn.

The burning had stopped now, but he knew it would return sooner or later. Fine, let it come, he thought. _It'll be a constant reminder of my new quest – to learn my adversary's secret…__**and then kill him.**_Iksar chuckled, the thought amused him greatly. To think that he had finally met a worthy foe, it was a thrilling realization. _Lex Umbra Inductor, I'm coming for you. _

Iksar rose up and walked to the big pool of rain-water right inside the cave. The water's dark surface gave him an interesting reflection of himself. He grinned.

It is said that one should never judge a book by its cover, but Iksar was the exception to that rule. His exterior matched the evil interior perfectly. His appearance was terrifying, like a dragon in mortal form. Iksar was Argonian, with scales as black as the robes he wore. His hair was nearly the exact same color as blood, along with various details on his face, and his eyes literally glowed red. His tail was abnormally long and robust for an Argonian, which he took great pride in. He loved to not just show it as often as possible, but to use it practically as well. He had many times used his strong tail to whip it at surprised enemies, disarming them, and sometimes if the angle was right, crushing their skulls. He particularly enjoyed those moments. Poetic in a way, he thought. Almost as poetic as the vengeance he now started planning. He chuckled again, he was…happy. Fun times were waiting.

The gate doors of Dragonsreach opened up, and the bright daylight lit up the palace like a beacon. While visits certainly weren't uncommon, it was always a big deal when political figures entered the palace. And Umbra was a political figure, whenever he liked it or not - he didn't. The guards stiffened up when they recognized their visitor, and the jarl's guests rose from their seats. He didn't recognize any of them except the black-haired woman, Maven Black-Briar. Out of all the beasts and homicidal terrors Skyrim had to offer, none made his heart race as much as this woman. Their eyes met, and the tension was instant – the two of them had secret history together which made their relationship…complicated.

Umbra ignored her, as he knew she'd do the same. The other guests, some foreign nobles he guessed, gawked at him in awe. As far as he was concerned, these people were as empty-headed as the plague he was fighting. It was all in their eyes - they thought that war had some sort of honor in it, that killing your own kinsmen could in some way be worth admiration. They thought of him as a hero. It was always these people that romanticized the killing of men, those that had never lifted a blade in their lives. He wondered why the jarl bothered with them._ Of course – business, the ugly truth._

Umbra walked up to the jarl, seated in his simple, yet elegant throne. The jarl's lifeguard, a dark elf, gave Umbra a strange look – he couldn't decide if she expressed caution or distrust. Dunmer eyes were tricky to analyze, he knew that much. The jarl cracked a modest smile.

"Lex Umbra Inductor, rebel bane of Skyrim. Your arrival means the conflict is dealt with, I suppose?" The Jarl's voice was soft and deep. His voice didn't fit the smile. It didn't bode well.

"The rebels are dead." Umbra thought it'd be best to keep it short. If he was right, Jarl Balgruuf's mood was about to turn to the worse.

"How many survivors?" The question was unexpected, but justified. Umbra had developed a reputation of unnecessary cruelty towards his adversaries. Such rumors were bad for the legion, so the orders had been to spare at least two Stormcloaks, as a sign to show the more merciful side of the Empire. Umbra had ignored them.

"None."

"Come again?"

"No survivors, they wouldn't surrender or retreat. They resisted till the very end." He spoke the truth, the Stormcloaks had refused surrender. Umbra didn't mind.

"**Damn it, Umbra!** You had your orders!" Balgruuf rose from his seat, slamming an invisible table. Had it not been for the genuine anger, the gesture would have looked pretty funny. Umbra's prediction proved correct.

"I've had the legion breathing down my neck for **weeks **because of your shenanigans! You can't keep doing this!" The guests at the table seemed nervous at the awkward situation, but Umbra didn't mind. This was typical. After his short outburst, Balgruuf sat down and massaged his forehead, frustrated like a father would be at disobedient kid. There was a silence.

"Look, I know you're just doing your solemn task, and the people of Whiterun appreciate it, but every time you disobey clear instructions or just simply go off the rails like in Riften, the legion holds me responsible because I'm your task-giver." Umbra could now clearly see that the Dunmer eyes showed distrust.

"You are the best at what you do, Umbra. No one is questioning that. But you're a volcano, you can erupt at any time, and that doesn't send the right message about the legion. **Or me.** You need discipline, and how to control yourself. **Am I understood?" **Umbra nodded, he understood perfectly well the first time he was told this - and the second, and he third. He just didn't care. This was war; this was survival, no silken gloves. The Stormcloaks were the enemy, the threat, so he killed them. These pointless lectures wouldn't change that. But he respected Balgruuf, so he let him yap on about "discipline" and something called "moderation". Umbra was an intelligent man, well-read in many ways, but he couldn't remember ever reading or hearing that word. It sounded like something an Imperial diplomat would say. Therefore not important.

Umbra could tell that Maven, with her normally blank expression, was holding back chuckles with all her might, desperately trying to maintain character around these people of influence. She did, of course. Only Umbra knew about the little girl that actually dwelled in there. In fact, he may have been the only person in the world to know her true self. While the jarl stood and went on with his authorial yapping, Umbra thought about Maven without trying to look at her. It was harder than he had thought. After having half-listened to the jarl's long rambling about public relations (or something like that), he finally heard something worth paying attention to.

"No, since I believe we understand each other, it's time that I give you your next mission. This will perhaps be the last task you'll be given by me, since many other things will crave my attention in the near future, my friends included." Balgruuf gestured to the awkward guests. Maven looked teasing.

"I know you're not one for maps and numbers, so I'll spare you the details, but in this room the very future of Skyrim will manifest itself. And it will all be thanks to you and your brave actions, despite your occasional mishap."Umbra didn't appreciate that last line. They weren't mishaps, they were jobs well done.

"No then, let's not discuss such matters here, come! I'll return shortly, friends." The guests gave their consent and bowed as the two famous men walked past them. Umbra could feel Maven's gaze burning through his neck. The jarl led Umbra upstairs to where he usually briefed him about his tasks, in private.

"I suppose you know about the Jagged Crown?" It was a well-meant question, but Umbra couldn't help but be offended by it.

"I am a Nord, honored jarl. Yes, I know of the Jagged Crown. What about it?" Umbra's irritation was obvious, but Balgruuf ignored it.

"I just got word back from general Tullius. Ulfric's men believe that they have located the Jagged Crown at a place called Korvanjund. It may seem as nonsense, but if the crown does in fact exist, then I'm sure you're aware of the impact it would have been if Ulfric got his hands on it."

"It's seems like nonsense indeed. The Jagged Crown is a legend, a myth told around campfires, not Dragonsreach, and definitely not in imperial forts!" Umbra wasn't sure if he should've been angry or just surprised, the Stormcloaks stupidity had really gone too far this time. They wanted to chase something which didn't even exist to prove Ulfric's right to rule? Madness, to say the least.

"I too believe it's a myth, but the orders are directly from general Tullius – he wants you and a select few to the scene. If somehow the crown actually does exist, then you must get it before the Stormcloaks does, and bring it to Solitude. Understood?" It was a foolish mission, but Balgruuf's gaze was deadly serious. Umbra stood silent for a while.

"This is my last mission from you?" he asked.

"Yes, most likely. For a long time at least."

"Hmph, well it certainly was an odd one. Very well, honored jarl – for Skyrim."

"For Skyrim."

Umbra took a last look at his map and marked the spot _Korvanjund._


	3. Korvanjund Part 1

It was an uncommonly calm day, usually the wind would be quite fierce this up north. It had both its pros and cons. The mild weather pretty much guaranteed that the Stormcloaks wouldn't be able to use blizzards as camouflage, as they had done so many times before. Each time, Umbra had been the only one who spotted the rebels made nearly invisible in the white snow– so much use for scouts. There was however a significant disadvantage to this. If they could see the Stormcloaks, then that of course meant that the Stormcloaks could see them as well. The clear weather meant that, should they meet Stormcloaks (which was very likely); they'd have no choice but to fight in the open, man-to-man. It was the preferred style of the Stormcloaks, and they would make sure that's how the fight would play out.

It was those situations that really separated the two armies apart. The imperial forces consisted of mere soldiers, well-trained and skillful in all regards, but soldiers still. The Stormcloaks were warriors, and their ferocity was like from a different world. Their fanatical devotion and violent nature was too overwhelming for the average imperial soldier, even the Nords. A straightforward battle between the two would normally end in a brutal, savage Stormcloak victory. They may have been imbeciles, but they had the raw power and durability to make up for it. Intelligence and rationality made little difference if your skull was being smashed to pieces.

This was especially true today – when the jarl said a "select few" he wasn't kidding. Ten men, excluding himself. The only other superior than himself was legate Aximan, a stiff, formal, dark-skinned woman who wasn't discrete with her distrust towards him. Aximan had arrived about a minute after him, and his presence seemed like an unwelcome surprise to her. She was clearly displeased not being the highest ranking officer present, as she usually was. They had worked together many times before, back when Umbra still was a regular legate in the legion, but they had never really seen eye to eye. Aximan saw him as an unstable weapon, too dangerous and bloodthirsty for his own good - a bad thing for the legion to be associated with. Umbra simply thought she was odd, he couldn't really figure her out – her looks, her speech; nothing seemed to match.

He couldn't tell if she was Redguard or Imperial, possibly a mixture of both. She had the complexion of a Redguard, dark like burnt oak, but he couldn't place her accent. Not Nordic, that was obvious, but he hadn't heard any Imperial or Redguard speak like she did. It annoyed him greatly. She had greeted him as stiff and formal as expected; she never really cared for him, but remembered that he now was her superior.

"Rebelbane! I salute you! Legate Aximan reporting in!"Rebelbane was a nickname, sort of an informal title. People had started using it after the incident in Riften. When he heard the stiff and uncheerful Aximan call him that, he knew that it would stick with him forever. Aximan wasn't one for social interactions of any kind, certainly not nicknaming. But this one stuck. Umbra ignored his irritation.

"Legate, join me by the map. We must plan the advance." Umbra escorted her to the tent they'd put up moments before her arrival. In the tent stood another soldier, Hadvar, who Umbra only knew through reputation. He was apparently one of the few survivors from Helgen when the dragon attacked. His presence rekindled Umbra's spirit somewhat – perhaps he wouldn't be the only man remaining after the mission's done. That's how it usually ended in these high-risk sorts of missions. No one seemed to match him in skill. Aximan was a fierce warrior (so Redguard blood at least?), but many were the times she had called a retreat due to casualties, when Umbra still busied himself in dismembering rebels. Was it really that hard? Was he really the only one that thought killing Stormcloaks was easy? Hadvar had prepared a table with a large, impressively detailed map of the area. He couldn't help but crack open a smile when the two of them entered the tent. They were both legends in the legion, and he now got to work with them. An honor, to be sure.

"I have the map ready, sir. What do you purpose would be our wisest way of action?" Hadvar asked.

"First of all, do we even know if no Stormcloaks are present? The last thing I want to do is to stomp in the main entrance, only to be slaughtered by a surprise-assault." Aximan said.

"Our scouts suggested no such signs. It's certain we came here first, but they'll arrive sooner or later." he answered.

"Then we must be the ones to first set up a trap." Umbra said. The three of them stood by the map and viewed it a long time, discussing where the best locations would be to place hazards and where the soldiers should've been positioned. It was a surprisingly difficult task due to their inferior numbers. _Why would they send so few men to such a high-profile mission? _Suddenly, a soldier stormed into the tent.

"**Stormcloaks! Thirty of them, at least!"**

"Have they seen us?" Umbra asked.

"No, but they've set camp right outside the main entrance. It'll only be a matter of time before they notice us."

"**Damn it! We were too slow!"** Aximan said, banging her fist on the table.

"Indeed. But no need to worry, this is in fact an excellent opportunity. The Stormcloaks have ironically enough given us the upper hand. This gives me the chance to do what no one does better."

Hadvar raised his eyebrow in surprise.

"And that would be, sir?" he asked.

"Killing."

Silence struck the tent. Umbra stepped outside and shot a last look at them.

"Tell everyone to hold their position; no one leaves until I give clearance."

"But sir, you're seriously not going to fight all of them by yourself!?" Hadvar objected.

"I am. Stay here, I'll return shortly."

"**But sir!"**Umbra shot him a murderous stare that silenced him. Lex Umbra Inductor then drew his sword, _Empire's Wrath, _and disappeared out of thin air. The nameless soldier gave legate Aximan a worried look.

"Are we going to have to clean up this?" he asked her, no doubt referring to their superior's broody rumors.

"Just collect them in a pile and burn them. No need for funerals for traitors." she answered with a cold tone. Hadvar did not appreciate the heartless answer. _But the Empire is merciful?_

When approaching the camp, Umbra remembered his favorite poem from youth, _Gods Above. _He recited it in his head as he sat on the snow-covered hill above the Stormcloak camp, staring at the rebels like a wolf gazing its prey.

_Red is the color of Mara's love_

_Red is the color of Talos' glove_

_Red is Arkay, god of death_

_Red is Akatosh's flaming breath _

_Red is the color of gods above_

_Red is the color of traitor's blood_

It had a different meaning to him now than it had before.

A better meaning.


	4. Korvanjund Part 2

Umbra had two preferred methods in dealing with rebels – one was to quietly slash each throat individually, another was to simply charge in from above (or sometimes below) and destroy everything and everyone with fire and frost. Surprise was his main weapon. The first option was the safest and easiest, but it'd take more time than he had right now; they could move into the tomb at any moment, so he had to be swift. The second option was less sophisticated, but it would certainly do the job. Might even provide his troop a bit of a show. But then again, it was exactly those sorts of "shows" that had caused his superiors to shout and curse at him, for making such bloody spectacles out of what should've been secret operations. And he probably didn't want to give his fellow officers any more reasons to distrust him. Aximan sure wouldn't be too pleased. But he couldn't help but feel a craving for destruction. So he decided for a combination of the two.

He sheathed his imperial blade and vanished - ten years of Thieves' Guild-business had turned him into a master of the shadows. Who knew how his life would've been today if he hadn't been thrown out all those years ago? No matter, their time would come. When this was over, he'd deal with them as well. Umbra sneaked up to the biggest tent, most likely the officer's. Cow hide, easily burned. Umbra ignited a discrete flame from his palms and spread it onto the tent. With inhuman speed, he proceeded to do the same to all the tents, eight in total. Then all he had to do was to hide at a good vantage point and wait. As expected, he didn't have to wait long.

The commotion began when they noticed the officer's tent burning. _They're quite slow, I must say._ As they desperately ran around like hens, trying to find water, the officer clad in wolf furs tried his best to quell the fire with ice magic. It didn't help much, and soon the Stormcloaks realized their entire camp was on fire. The chaos was now obvious, as the rebels found themselves surrounded by flames, and escape had been made impossible. Not surprisingly, a few of them made a run for the tomb, but what met them there were dozens of strategically placed fire runes. A few explosions and more than ten Stormcloaks had met their violent end. Their flying, crisped bodies served to boost the Stormcloaks' panic. The officer in furs bellowed out a few commands, but the mass confusion and sudden horror was too great for the rebels, and none of them seemed to notice him.

In the middle of the searing chaos, Stormcloaks started to drop down dead on the ground, one by one; as if an invisible being had slashed their throats. _Exactly as if so. _Soon enough, the wolf officer was the only one left standing amongst the intense fire clouds and bloody corpses. But the Stormcloak didn't lose his nerve.

"Come, demon. Show me your wretched being so I can pierce your heart." he quietly muttered to himself as he looked around in every direction, awaiting the inevitable attack.

"Galmar Stone-Fist, I believe?" The voice came from the wall of fire. The Stormcloak narrowed his eyes. Then, he saw a shape revile itself from the flames – a man.

"**Come, scum, and I shall beat you as red as Talos' glove! **Galmar shouted in rage.

The man that appeared from the flames was tall, muscular, and clad in heavy imperial armor. He wore no helmet, reviling the scarred face of a Nord in his early forties. He had a short, brown beard and shaved brown hair. His skin was fair and his eyes ice-blue, like a true Nord would be. But a true Nord he wasn't, of course; he wouldn't be fighting for the Empire if so. Galmar's pulse raced through his body, he knew who this was – this was Lex Umbra Inductor, the Rebelbane.

"So, the traitor amongst traitors has come out of his shadows? Come to fight in fair combat, the Nord-way? It's too late to regain your honor, imperial. I shall see to it."

The uncanny Nord stared back and drew his sword, its blade glowing an enchanted red. _Empire's Wrath, the blade that cuts a path for the corrupt Empire, _Galmar thought. He was ready, this fight would be to the death, and he knew it. And Galmar Stone-Fist, second only to Ulfric Stormcloak himself, would slay this fiend of a man, the one they call Rebelbane. His reign of terror would end today. Umbra spoke as I he had read Galmar's thoughts.

"That's enough. Come and die, savage." Galmar was happy to apply; he drew his two-handed iron axe and charged with a roar. _Just like the beast you are, _Umbra thought. The two blades met in a clash, sparks flying over their heads. The duel had begun, and it was the fight of their lives. Both being Nords, their styles had clear familiarities; their technique built mostly on swift, but brutal, strikes on the upper body; a true Nord didn't cheat by cutting of legs. No matter ones allegiance, honor must be withheld. But the differences were obvious as well, given the completely different lives that fought each other. Galmar was all strength and brute force, his axe were as much part of him as any other limb. Despite the axe's demanding weight, Galmar had complete control of every moment, every strike and every blocking of Umbra's scorching blade. But that was all he had, it was clear that no other weapon would've worked as well, Galmar was a man of iron and power – a brute, put simply.

While younger, Umbra had many diverse experiences. Unlike Galmar, who had spent his whole life as an axe-wielding warrior, Umbra had been many things – thief, wizard, scout and mercenary; he was somewhat of a universalist, he always had another trick up his sleeve, always something to surprise his enemy with. This was an intense duel, he had to admit. Galmar was old, but strong like a bull; each strike he couldn't dodge but had to block with his blade, felt as if a troll fell with all its weight on him. He was even worried that his sword might break; Galmar's strength was that great. His sword had been forged in the Imperial City in Cyrodiil, and later given as a gift to Umbra by the emperor himself. Having it destroyed by a filthy rebel officer would've been an unacceptable dishonor.

Galmar too had to recognize his adversary's skills, his vigor and agility was greater than any he had witnessed before, he thought that it was no wonder the Stormcloaks had suffered such losses – this man was a killing-machine. But that was also his weakness; he didn't have the heart and spirit of a true warrior like himself. He didn't have the spark, that drive given by Talos, true god of man. His lack of passion would be his undoing, Galmar was sure of it. No one could beat a true Nord of Skyrim in honest combat, especially not the empire's inhuman murder-automaton. Plus, Galmar had Talos on his side.

The two officers traded many sharps blows, each increasingly rougher than the other – they would kill each other, there was no doubt. The flames had started to die out, leaving black piles left of what used to be sleeping tents. None of the two had ever endured such a fierce duel; they truly were equals in battle. Umbra was, for the first time in years, in a dangerous position. He knew that this couldn't go on for much longer; Galmar's durability was almost jokingly large. He had to end this, soon.

But then as if from nowhere, Umbra was suddenly grasped by instant inspiration; his sense for surprise made a quick comeback. He dodged what would've otherwise been a lethal blow from Galmar, one of many; and took a fast and wide side-step, demonstrating his agile superiority. Then hot imperial steel slashed off the rebel's hands with a mighty swing. Galmar screamed like a dying bear as his now useless limbs gushed out his Nord blood. While Galmar tried to recover from the shock and pain, Umbra sheathed his blooded blade and summoned arcane fire from his right hand. However, this time it wouldn't be an open palm spraying fire, as it usually was; this time a burning, closed fist came smashing down Galmar's face, sending him down to the ground with a vicious impact.

All of this while the old rebel's hands slowly drained the life out of him. Satisfied with how his sudden inspiration had played out, Umbra turned his back to the dying officer to alert legate Aximan and the others. But as he had only taken a few steps, he heard a painful gasp followed by a series of coughs behind him. Galmar stood up (barely) and stared at him with crazy eyes – the man would simply not die yet.

"Stop it. Sovngarde is expecting you, do not fight it." Umbra said. Galmar clearly disagreed, as he one last time charged at him with a primal roar, unarmed and with limbs painting the snow in a rush.

"**Imperial lap-dog!" **he bellowed out like a wild animal.

Umbra's hands surrounded themselves in a cold, arcane mist; frost magic was going to end this duel. Galmar's pointless assault was abruptly stopped when Umbra's frozen hands practically buried themselves in the rebel's chest, paralyzing him on the spot. Galmar stood frozen in place, desperately trying to keep his breath going; at the same time as he could see reflective ice spreading through his entire body from his chest. Galmar tried to speak, but could only muster out a single word:

"Why…" Umbra answered him with an arrogant casualty.

"Why? Imperial justice cannot be denied."

"Don't-"was all Galmar had time to say before all of him froze in place. Galmar Stone-Fist, Windhelm's greatest warrior and Ulfric Stormcloak's personal right-hand man was now nothing more than a man-sized ice sculpture. Umbra stood and inspected the frozen shape a little while, before he walked away and inspected the rubble around him. The fire had now completely died out, and Umbra seemed to be looking for something in the ashen piles. Eventually, he found what he was looking for – a relatively intact iron sword. It was a symbol for Skyrim in many regards, due to its common use amongst the land. He thought it would be fitting. Umbra took it and walked back to the ice-cold and dead Galmar Stone-Fist. He then rammed the sword through the frozen chest, piercing the reflective statue with a violent force.

He left the sword in place, knowing that sooner or later, Stormcloaks would be looking for their lost hero. This would be the sight that greeted them when they finally found him. Galmar Stone-Fist was no more. Umbra wandered back to the imperial camp, and in to the tent. Every soldier, including Aximan, was inside the tent, inspecting the map. Every face was struck by surprise as their blood-soaked officer stepped in, and grabbed a cloth to wipe his red-painted blade clean.

Even Aximan, who was no stranger to Umbra's slaughters, seemed to be surprised by his arrival. Umbra broke the silence as he sheathed his now clean sword.

"The coast is clear, but remain watchful. There may be more dangers ahead."


	5. Korvanjund Part 3

The Ragged Flagon was moist and dense, so much so that it brought back memories of Black Marsh to Iksar. He'd never really cared for the swamps; unlike most Argonians, Iksar enjoyed the harsh, cold climate of Skyrim with its freezing waters and sky-touching mountains. The chilled winds and the thick, cloud-white snow made places like Hjaalmarch look like a dead version of his homeland; with frozen marches and dead pine trees. It was a better version, he thought. But now was no time for the delightful outsides, now he sat in an underground tavern next to a sun burnt Breton named Delvin. Iksar thought he heard a rough Morrowind-accent rumble from the thief's throat, although that hardly made any sense. Still, it was hard to ignore. Delvin leaned over the table slightly, speaking in a brutish, deep voice.

"So let me see if I get this straight – you want us to steal an old, craggy hat that is almost certainly fictional? And in Korvanjund of all places, a tomb bound to be riddled with undead and curses?"

Iksar's red reptile eyes glowed in the dark tavern. The thief's worrying tone amused him, and his smile revealed a grin of horrible, sharp teeth. Delvin did his best to hide his shudder – out of all the scum and sinners he had met in his day; the Argonian before him was probably the first to ever invoke a level of fear in him. The black lizard wasn't just another hoodlum cheating through life; he could tell. This one was pure evil.

"Is there a problem?" Iksar hissed out in his deep, distorted voice. Delvin leaned back in his chair, remembering to play his role. He looked at the ceiling while stroking his stubble.

"It might be, if the coin's not enough. I think it'll be appropriate with a few extra septims, for working hazards, you know what I mean?"

Iksar chuckled; he enjoyed these sorts of talks. Coin had never been a problem in his life, so he always thought it amusing to listen to these pitiful creatures squirming for a heavier purse. And no one squirmed like thieves, even if they put on a whole act to hide it. Iksar dropped a big, heavy purse on the table, immediately directing Delvin's attention to it. Iksar leaned forth, still grinning.

"9000 imperial gold. Would that be adequate for your services?"

The thief's eyes widened, it was clearly a lot of gold. Iksar didn't really know the worth; he'd never had any use for money himself. He collected as much as possible, but only for moments like these. It was a wise decision, he now saw. But knowing thieves, he put it away from the pickpocket's hungry eyes.

"After the job's done, of course."

Delvin's attention went back to the uncanny lizard.

"And what if it's not there? It's just a legend after all, might not even exist. Surely you'd agree to pay half now, and half later? I'd be foolish if we kill one of our own just to chase a fairytale. "

"It does exist, so that's no concern of yours. Just get it in one piece and bring it to me. You'll find me outside town, in Darkwater Pass." Before the thief had a chance to protest, Iksar rose from the table and strolled back the same way he came, through the Ratway.

Delvin sat and recollected his thoughts for a moment. Surely the Jagged Crown was nothing more than a legend, a children's story. Yet this evil-looking Argonian wanted to hire the Thieves' Guild to find it for him - and for a big sum of money as well. Korvanjund was an ancient tomb, he knew that much, but who's to say the place wasn't full of draugrs or other horrors? Not to mention the countless traps that Nord tombs usually offered. He, along with most thieves, avoided jobs like these like the plague. Even experts like Vex and himself found the tombs too dangerous, and it was rarely worth the effort. They only went to such treacherous parts in the most extreme cases. But was this one of them? No, not likely. Still, 9000 septims was a lot of coin, and in these dire times they needed every last one of them.

His eyes found Vex, who he only just now noticed. It was clear she had overheard the entire conversation. She looked just as pondering as him, stroking an imaginary beard.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" he asked her. She stared at him with her sharp, analytical eyes.

"Yes. When's he back in town?"

"Not long now. Should just be a day or two. Should I assign it to him?"

"Yes, it any one were to slaughter hordes of undead and find an imaginary crown, it's him." She joked, but none of them felt the need to acknowledge it.

Delvin rose from his seat and walked to a discreetly hidden cabinet. He opened the cabinet, which revealed a short hall leading to a door.

"Very well, I'll tell Brynjolf. He'll see to it that Dominus gets moving as soon as possible."

What Umbra didn't know was that the Stormcloaks he faced weren't the first. It came as a stinking, rotting surprise when the dozen legionnaires entered Korvanjund. The first thing that greeted their entrance was the vile stench of Stormcloak corpses, spread all over the massive cave. Dismembered, decapitated, slashed throats; the bodies were everywhere and it was impossible not to step on the week-old blood that covered the stone floor. A few of the men retreated to their own corner to vomit, the stench of death being too much. Even the experienced legate Aximan couldn't help but be horrified, she'd never seen such a hell-like aftermath of a battle. Everywhere her eyes looked; rebel's insides and brain matter were splattered all over, slowly decaying in a nightmarish way. She stuttered:

"What…what beast of an army could've done this?" She shivered, death had never seen so real, so horrible before. She actually felt sorry for the Stormcloaks; the scene truly was that appalling.

Umbra kneeled down and inspected one of the rotting corpses, his nose burning in alarm of the unnatural smell. The Stormcloak had both his arms cut off, and two large wounds on his upper chest, just below the throat. He recognized the pattern; it was a text-book example of a fighting style known as _Vaagen. _It was an alarming sight; Vaagen was an ancient Nord technique, known by perhaps only a handful of people today. Umbra had personally met two of them, and both of them were well over eighty years old and in no condition to fight what seemed to be an entire platoon of Stormcloaks. Hadvar counted 44 bodies. He walked up to Umbra.

"What do you see, sir?" he asked.

"Concern" he answered "these cuts suggests the killer used an ancient sword technique long forgotten. How do the other bodies look like? Do these cuts seem familiar?" Hadvar kneeled down beside his officer, his nose shrinking in disgust.

"Yes, they all had cuts like these, some even the exact same. What does that mean?"

"This is not good." Umbra answered with a moody tone.

"Why is that, sir?"

"I can't think of anyone knowing this style that would have business in this place, especially not a whole army of them. Even if there were, they'd be so few they'd have no chance of defeating a half regiment of Stormcloaks."

"What do you make of that, Rebelbane?" Aximan asked, still recovering from the shock of the carnage. Most of the other legionnaires had put cloths over the lower part of their faces, doing what they could to block the stench from their mouths and noses. Umbra stood up straight, gesturing to his men to gather around him. Two of them had become dizzy of the constant stench and vomiting.

"No living army could've caused this. This leads to only one conclusion." The legionnaires' faces whitened, one of them had to puke again. This mission kept going from bad to worse.

"Men!" Umbra's voice thundered "this, I cannot do alone. Today you will all show your worth to Skyrim and the Empire. Today, you'll fight the cursed undead."


	6. Dominus Davus Prelude Korvanjund part 4

Dominus Davus was the greatest thief in all of Skyrim – or at least if you asked him. It was hard to argue against it though; Dominus had performed tasks that even the Guild Master of Elsweyr would find impressive. He had ransacked the armory in Dragonsreach, stolen invaluable objects from the College of Winterhold; he'd even once pick pocketed the Jarl of Riften in broad daylight. He was however involved in more than just stealing – the big money was found in murder. However, despite his phenomenal skills in crime, he was not a member of either the Thieves' Guild or Dark Brotherhood.

He had been, once; but that was a long time ago, a whole decade in fact. His current relationship with the Guild was somewhat complicated. He practically grew in the Guild, along with his sworn brother Lex, and learned everything there was to know about sneaking, lock picking, pick pocketing and mercantile. The sworn brothers learned fast, and had at the ripe age of nineteen mastered the way of the swindler. They had together completed many high-risk jobs, and they made the Guild plenty of money when gold was scarce. He and Lex were the brightest stars among Riften's thieves, and the two of them knew they were destined for the rank of Guild Master. Together they'd lead the Guild to a new golden age, one that would never cease to be as long as they lived.

Those dreams ended the day Dominus killed Mercer. The argument had been intense and hateful, so much so that it eventually led to blades clashing. Exactly how the brawl had started, no one knew for sure. They both kept calling each other "traitor" and "conspirator", cursing their opponent as they dueled in the heart if the thieves' headquarters. They both blamed each other for the murder of the previous Guild Master, Gallus; whose death had been believed to be the handiwork of Mercer's former partner, Karliah. She'd been missing for years.

Lex, being the good soul he was, tried to intervene. His sworn brother and his old mentor were about to kill each other, and Lex would have none of it. He stood between them, trying to talk sense into them, only to have Mercer's dwarven sword piercing through him. The sight of his sworn brother falling by Mercer's blade enraged Dominus even further, and before he knew it, Dominus had separated the Guild Master's head from his shoulders. After that, no explanation would be sufficient – the Guild banished Dominus for good, cursing him just like they'd cursed Karliah. Actually, they would've probably killed him if not for Lex.

Lex defended his brother, naturally taking his side in the matter, even though he'd just witnessed him decapitating their Guild Master. Despite Dominus' crime, the Guild considered listening; Lex had despite his young age the respect and authority of that of an elder. Lex used all his wit and drift, and every argument he could think of to ease his brother's verdict. The Guild then gave them an ultimatum: either they both left the Guild, never to return; or Dominus would be executed on the spot. They left the same day.

Dominus Davus and Lex Umbra Inductor, sworn brothers of the Thieves' Guild, were now exiled from the only family they'd ever know. They wandered Skyrim, taking jobs of a roguish nature wherever they could. Robbery, break-ins, even murder was on their resume. However, their oath of life-long brotherhood couldn't prevent their increasingly common and aggressive disputes. Lex wanted to go straight, saying that the Guild's banishment of them was a sign that they should've used their skills for nobler purposes. Dominus had the argument that there was no such thing as "nobler purposes" for people of their world. They were thieves and murderers, that was their draw in life, he said.

Dominus and Lex spent five weeks together from the day they were chased out of Riften till the day the clashed against one another for the last time. Without the Guild, without their family; Lex no longer felt he could justify the crimes – he needed a greater purpose. Eventually, brother turned against brother and Dominus nearly killed his life-long friend. Dominus spared his life, but made a promise that their paths would never cross again.

Lex hadn't heard or seen anything from his brother since then. After their clash, he went on to join the Imperial Legion and the rest is history. Every year without Dominus had made Lex grimmer and broodier, till his once discrete "snatch-and-grab" methods had turned into massive bloodbaths, especially with the arrival of the Stormcloak-rebellion. Killing was no longer a hard thing to do. It wasn't pleasurable, it never had been, but it didn't burden his mind anymore. The Rebelbane would never see his sworn brother again; they walked very different paths now.

Dominus' post-Guild life had been very successful, and had unlike his brother remained in the shadows. He had through years of bribes, threats, and even one or two murders managed to get a position in the Guild again, though a very strained one. His "position" meant that he received jobs from them, jobs they thought too dangerous for themselves. Dominus wasn't an official member of the Guild, he never would be. He wasn't allowed in the Flagon ever again, and if things would ever get sour, there would be no protection or help from the Guild. Dominus didn't care though, just as long as he made some gold.

Dominus also took many assassination jobs, but not in the Dark Brotherhood's name. In fact, he thought the group of assassins was just a legend. Most jobs came from the rich elite, a group not known for getting their hands dirty. Dominus made a fortune on his crimes, but never once considered retiring – he enjoyed his work too much. He also thought of it as a question of principles – he was raised a thief, with a natural talent for murder. Denying this by doing something else would've been an insult to destiny, he thought. He knew of course about Lex's current life, but intended to keep his promise – they would never meet again. Or so he thought.

Ψ

Korvanjund stank like a barrel of dead skeevers. The legionaries slowly advanced through the narrow halls of the catacombs with Umbra and Aximan in the lead. The tombs were cold and there was a wet feeling to the atmosphere. The legionaries inched, paranoid of the dangers that could lure behind every corner. The dead walked these halls, Umbra had confirmed it. They hadn't seen any draugrs yet, so some of them tried to convince themselves that even the mighty Umbra could've been mistaken. Aximan had little faith in Umbra as a person, but did not doubt his knowledge in the matter. She walked prepared with both blade and shield out.

Suddenly, the train stopped. Umbra had commanded a halt, raising his hand for silence. He gestured to Aximan, telling her to listen closely. She did as he instructed, and nodded after a few seconds. She turned to her men and whispered:

"Draugrs. Be ready with your weapons. And remember to be quiet."

They unsheathed their tools, some of them shaking while doing so. This was serious, this could be deadly. The undead were very different from Stormcloaks; the stories told of draugrs that were indestructible and skilled in destruction magic. Some of them was even said to know how to Shout, like the dragons did. They had recently seen four dozens of Stormcloaks slain in the most horrible ways, so their fears were well justified. Just how many draugrs would they have to face? Would they even live to find out? After all, if more than forty Stormcloaks didn't stand a chance, what would the ten of them be able to accomplish? They were glad they had Umbra and Aximan leading them.

Umbra halted again, this time gesturing to everyone to observe his actions. He'd noticed just a few meters away from them, two draugrs walking aimlessly in a round, well-lit room.

"The Stormcloaks died like cattle because they simply charged in like oafs", he whispered to them. "The secret to destroying draugrs is stealth, both their sight and hearing is very limited, and therefore easy targets when moving with the shadows. Observe, for this you can all do."

Umbra sneaked towards the two draugrs, standing like statues. They didn't breathe obviously, but their occasional grunts and twists were the only things that showed that they were indeed very active for being corpses. Umbra sat crouched down right behind the draugrs, much to the legionaries' amusement and horror – they really didn't notice him!

And then in one swift, elegant strike; Umbra split the two draugrs in half. They fell silently to the cave floors, despite being clad in ancient, rusty armor. The rest of their exploit in the cave was almost insultingly easy, the draugrs they met were isolated and usually in a pair, three at most. Every legionnaire had their chance trying their sneaking skills, and all of them successfully killed at least one draugr. How worthless were these Stormcloaks, who had been slaughtered by these blind and deaf skin-dolls?

"Dumber than orcs, they are" legionnaire Vertus said. Umbra didn't appreciate the comment, but let it slide this time – the last things they needed right now was a loud scolding giving them away. Their success was completely dependent on this silent tactic. After what could have been perhaps an hour of sneaking, stopping, and slicing in the dark cavern halls, they finally found what they were looking for.

Before them was a large, impressive throne room with a mighty throne of stone in the center, and ancient coffins smothering the walls surrounding them. In the throne sat a mummified corpse, but thankfully not the sort that walked. This one was dead for real. Behind the throne was a large, smooth, marble-like wall with a strange script carved into it. Not even Umbra had any clue of what it was. A staircase, as old as the graves, led up to what seemed to the others as just a blank, stone wall. Umbra, who had been in Nord tombs many times before, knew better. The only mystery in the room was the wall with its inept writings; it didn't fit in the place at all.

"What is that?" Vertus asked; it was the question they all had on their minds.

"'I've never seen anything like it!" Hadvar added. Umbra waved off their questions.

"We'll get to that later", he said "concentrate on finding the crown." Finding it hardly took any effort. An astonished Hadvar found it on the sitting corpse's head. The wall was quickly forgotten, as they all stood like sheep staring at the mythic headwear. The Jagged Crown certainly fit the description, it was covered by large, and still very sharp teeth. Dragon teeth, in fact. Umbra chuckled for himself, he shouldn't have doubted so much. After all, a few years ago; dragons were just a children's story – now one had recently destroyed Helgen. He had seen of these beasts himself when he defended Whiterun's western watchtower. A crown made out of the monster's teeth should've been the last discovery he thought surprising.

Umbra found his composure again.

"Well done men! To my own surprise, we have found the Jagged Crown. I thought it to be merely a legend, as I'm sure most of you did too. But here it is, in our possession! However, now comes the real challenge – we must safely escort this artifact to Castle Dour, and not stop until it is in the hands of general Tullius himself!"

The men cheered, even legate Aximan. When the cheering had stopped, Hadvar asked as if suddenly remembering something:

"Sir, before we went forward; you said you needed us, that you couldn't do this alone."

The other men remembered it too, and turned to Umbra with wondering faces.

"Yes?..."

"Given how easy our quest was, why did you say that?" Umbra raised his eyebrow, chuckling.

"Well – "was all he had time to say before a loud, booming noise drowned his voice. The cave started shaking; many of the soldiers lost their balance in the turbulence. Umbra had steady feet, but he still found himself wobbling all over the room, grabbing a hold of the throne to maintain the little balance he could. Aximan, in her heavy armor and impractical, dense helmet; fell hard to the ground. She twisted her ankle during the impact and gave out an unheard painful grunt. Smaller rocks started to fall down from the cave roof, and a bigger one landed right on Vertus head. It wasn't fatal, but he went dizzy and fell.

Umbra's eyes met Hadvar's and he shouted all he could, desperately trying to overpower the dooming, and crackling sound of rocks smashing at them.

"**This is why I need you!"**

And as if commanded by his voice, the coffins surrounding them burst open. Ten, twenty, thirty, forty draugrs stormed out of the walls, screaming in a deafening high pitch none of the legionaries had heard before. Those few still standing froze in place, the inhuman noises coming from the undead literally scared them stiff. The cave slowly steadied, but was now filled with the hateful undead, armed to the teeth and charging right at the outnumbered soldiers. The legionaries found their courage, and the fight was on.

Umbra drew his sword and cut through a draugr wearing a big, two-handed axe. Hadvar kept close to his officer, fending off blows from ancient Nord swords and axes. Aximan limbed, but fought still with great vigor. Her helmet had come off, but that was the least of her troubles right now. She bashed a draugr's head clean off with her shield, while slicing through another with her sword. Vertus and the others held their own, but with great difficulty. Gorem, a Dunmer, was the first one to fall. A draugr, clearly stronger than the others, pierced his abdomen with an arcane ice spike. Vertus answered with some magic of his own, and sent a fearsome fireball right at the draugr's rotten face. Haggard, a Nord, met his end at the tip of a draugr's two-handed sword. Typhus, a seasoned Imperial, froze to death by more draugr-magic.

The draugrs were diminishing, but so were they. Umbra and Hadvar fought back-to-back, blocking the dead men's violent blows, and slicing their undead bodies in as many pieces as they could.

"You knew this was going to happen!?" Hadvar shouted to his superior, this time trying to be heard over the sound of battle.

"I figured as much, yes! It has happened before, but never as surprisingly as this!" he shouted back.

"But why didn't you tell us at once?"

"Like I said, it's never been this sudden! The other times, they'd already been out of their graves! It's typical to catacombs, and this one seemed no different! The plan was to wait and prepare an organized surprise-attack!"

"But now when you saw no draugrs you just thought it was a lucky break?" Hadvar asked while opening a draugr's dry throat.

"Are you questioning my decision-making, soldier?" Umbra snapped, as he kicked a draugr in the stomach.

"Yes, I am! …Sir!"

"Fair enough, I'll give you this one!"

Ymsir, Haggard's brother; who had served with his brother for many loyal years, got both his arms cut off and died screaming. Aximan still fought, but her foot held her back a great deal. She couldn't go on like this much longer. Realizing this, Umbra swept by her side to assist her. He came just in time to block an otherwise fatal blow against her neck. Aximan pushed forward, burying her blade in the draugr's throat. She breathed heavy, as did he.

"My thanks, Rebelbane." She mustered out.

"Not yet." he answered, as he suddenly threw her aside. He turned to the other remaining legionnaires and shouted:

"**Get away! Push against the walls, get away!" **Despite the panic in their hearts, they followed his commands, and ran to the walls. Aximan understood what was going to happen, and limped away from her savior in a hurry. The draugrs were still many, at least thirty of them. As the soldiers fled from the room's center, the draugrs' attention turned to Umbra, now surrounded. Umbra sheathed his blade, and his hands stared glowing. His eyes closed, and his focus left the draugrs completely.

_This better damn work._

His hands burned with a rageful, red light. He smashed his open palms on the cave floor, and a fiercesome, loud wave of fire swept through the room, just barely missing the legionnaires. The destructive flood tore most of the draugrs apart, bursting them up in flames. A few of them resisted, but the remaining flames invading their bodies quickly drained the life out of them. If one would call it life, that is.

Umbra sat on his knees, exhausted. He'd just performed a destruction spell of highest difficulty. He wasn't a naturally gifted sorcerer, and this one spell had robbed him of all his magicka. Umbra tried to remain his focus, but the loss of the massive amounts of energy needed for the spell had made him dizzy and disorganized. His vision was blurry, and he couldn't hear anything; probably due to the loud bang he had stood right in front of. Finally, he could hear muffled voices:

"**Look out!"**

His vision hadn't improved however, and he could only make out blurry outlines. Something was coming at him. It wore something in its hands, an axe? Did one of the draugrs survive? Umbra tried to get up, but didn't get far – he was interrupted by three strange words.

_Fus. Ro. Dah. _

And that was all he remembered.


End file.
